


agoraphobia

by kerrykins



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-02 18:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16792498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykins/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Miranda hates soulmates just as much as she hates losing control. Yet, she finds both of these taking over her life.





	1. Chapter 1

Miranda Priestly knew all about soulmates and how they worked. You write on yourself, the text is transferred to your soulmate’s skin. Et cetera. How could she not, when the society she lived in was constantly throwing it in everyone’s faces? “Everyone has a soulmate” and “You’ll find your soulmate someday, everyone is made for someone.” Everywhere she went, the soulmate talk always followed. It was inescapable.

The editor often found herself wondering how different her life would be if she did have one. It had been a while since she cared about it, but couldn’t help but be curious. All the judgemental whispers she heard drift past her, murmurs of shock and sympathy for Miranda, who was unfortunate enough to not have a soulmate. She struggled a bit in her youth with these kind of comments, but eventually she became numb to them, donning that cold, detached, demeanor she was so well-known for.

She had wasted her teenage years scribbling so many times “Hello” and “Are you there?” on her arms. Every morning she would wake up, and immediately check herself in the mirror to see if she had been left a message, a smiley face, or a heart.

It never came. And every time she’d stare at herself in that mirror, all she’d see was herself, with her strawberry blonde locks and crestfallen blue eyes.

One day, Miranda didn’t bother checking. She didn’t pay any attention to her peers, who giggled as they drew all over themselves. Miranda certainly did not notice the messy lettering that would seep onto their skin, as if by magic. No. She would not spend her entire life waiting. Miranda had plans, large and elaborate ones, and knew exactly what she wanted to do. Move across the globe to New York, and edit her own fashion magazine.

So that’s what she did, graduating high school with the titles of valedictorian and Homecoming Queen. She booked a ticket for New York City, and scraped together a measly forty-five dollars before hopping on a plane to her new life.

No soulmates. Just her and her magazine. At least, that was the plan until she tore through one, two, three husbands, none of which were her soulmate. Miranda also ended up having a pair of lovely, if not mischievous, twin daughters. So things have not gone exactly as she had anticipated, but Miranda cherished nothing more than her daughters and Runway. And it was just the  _ four _ of them, no romantic nonsense, no distractions, nothing that could possibly ruin the long-deserved peace they finally had.

Except Andrea Sachs.

At first glance, the brunette was harmless, annoyingly persistent, and incredibly nervous. But Miranda was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

The writing appeared one day when she was rattling off a list of instructions. “I need you to confirm lunch with McQueen, as well as purchase football equipment for Cassidy.” Miranda sighed. “Soccer, not football. And do tell Nigel that I’m moving the Valentino shoot up to to tomorrow at 11 AM. Also, you need to-- What on earth are you doing?” The older woman asked sharply. The brunette didn’t even have a notepad with her, when Miranda was giving her a very important set of orders.

Andrea looked up at her and froze, a pen poised above her arm. “Taking notes.” When the editor narrowed her eyes at her, the brunette gulped nervously. “I left my planner at home because I left in a hurry,” she explained, her incessant stammering starting to really grate on Miranda’s nerves. “And I didn’t know what to really do, so I--” 

The white-haired woman cut her off, rolling her eyes. “That’s all.” Her assistant stared at her with wide eyes, fear clearly written all over her face as she hurried back to her desk. Miranda watched her leave with a raised eyebrow, her lips quirking into what almost was a smile. Andrea’s panic was amusing, and almost endearing.

As the editor began typing at her computer, she noticed a messy scrawl on her arm and frowned. That was odd, she hadn’t written on her arm since she was in high school. Wait. Miranda slowly turned her arm so she could properly read it, trying her keep her face neutral. It was proving to be a more arduous task than she had expected, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

What greeted her was not a message, but a to-do list, and an oddly familiar one at that. Lunch with McQueen, soccer equipment, Valentino shoot to 11 AM. Miranda stared blankly at it, realisation dawning on her. Her insides twisted in dread. Oh god. That stumbling, bumbling child was her soulmate? No, it couldn’t be. She took a deep breath, but it was shaky.

Totally unable to focus on her work after that, Miranda decided it would be best to just go home early. Her girls were on a field trip, and would be gone for the next week or so, giving her plenty of time and silence to contemplate.

“Clear my schedule today. Fetch what’s been assembled for the Book so far, I’ll take whatever the art department has. That’s all.” She spoke briskly, unable to look Andrea in the eye.

“I can’t cancel your meeting with the board at seven,” her assistant said with hesitation, as if she was treading on thin ice. Smart girl, that was exactly the case. “But I can sit in for you, take notes, and explain your spending, if you’d like me to.” She looked up at the editor hopefully.

Miranda nodded. “Yes, do that. I expect you to take diligent notes, but perhaps this time on paper rather than your arm.”

The brunette blushed. “Y-yes, Miranda.”

Being home wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as staying in the office, where she had frantically tried to scrub the ink off her arm to no avail. It was in permanent marker, and Miranda couldn’t cover up the note without making it obvious she was hiding something.

In the safety of her study, she examined her arm as to confirm that she hadn’t dreamt it. She couldn’t help but chuckle darkly at the irony of it. Miranda has spent so much of her life desperate for her soulmate to appear, and when it finally arrived, she was horrified.

This new development certainly explained a lot of things. Such as why she never got a response from her soulmate when she had tried to contact them. Miranda vaguely recalled a time when the girls were toddlers, and she would find barely noticeable pen scribbles on her calves or wrist. But she didn’t much of it at the time, assuming it had been the work of her daughters.

If Andrea truly was her soulmate, then why had no messages arrived earlier? Of course she wouldn’t have been able to send anything thirty or twenty years ago, but surely the girl must have tried to contact her soulmate when she was a teen. Why now?

Miranda ran her hands through her hair and groaned. This was giving her a headache, all this guessing wouldn’t accomplish much. But-- perhaps she could get the answers she wanted. Hesitantly, she uncapped the red pen she used for annotating the book, and pressed it to her skin. 

_ I wasn’t aware that I had a soulmate, and I’m surprised that you’ve waited so long to say anything. _

Miranda stared at the neat cursive script on her arm, wondering if there was some way to edit her message. Probably not, unless she was willing to cross out some things. After spending a couple moments waiting, she opened the Book and began reading over it. When she looked up, it was starting to get dark outside. Had she really been working for that long? 

  
She snuck a glance at her watch. It was only six thirty, but now that it was winter, the daylight faded earlier. Her eyes instinctively travelled down her arm, and there was still nothing other than her own handwriting. By now, Andrea would likely be getting ready to leave for the meeting. The editor growled when she realised that she was worrying about this whole situation. Miranda Priestly did not fret about what her lowly assistants thought of her.

_ Until now _ , she thought bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

Once she was finished with the Book, Miranda pulled a bottle of bourbon and poured herself a generous glass. She definitely deserved it after everything that had happened today.  
  
She settled onto the counter of her kitchen with a sigh, not particularly caring that it was improper. The cool marble surface beneath her was soothing, and she absently sipped her drink as she peered out her window.  
  
Closing her eyes, she focused on the pitter-patter on rain outside, streaming down her roof and windows. It kept her from noticing the painfully dreary silence that filled her large, empty home. But unfortunately, not from the ink that she could feel blossoming on her wrist. With a jolt, Miranda snapped back to reality, eyes widening as she saw messy lettering fade in.  
  
_Oh, hello! I’m so sorry for the late response, I didn’t notice it until now. I also didn’t know I had a soulmate, I would sometimes try to write something out, but then immediately scribble it out. And I never got anything back, so I assumed I didn’t have one. But I’m glad to have finally found you! I’m Andrea, but most people call me Andy. I live in New York and work as a personal assistant for Miranda Priestly. How about you?_ _  
_  
Miranda practically leapt off the counter, dashing back to her study to find a pen. Once she had, she began to write, the strokes of her pen slow and hesitant. What should she respond to, and what should she ignore?  
  
_Lovely to meet you. Apologies for the late response- it’s been nearly thirty years since I stopped trying to find my soulmate. I also live in New York, but I’d prefer not disclosing my name yet, if you don’t mind. -M._ _  
_  
The editor fervently reread all the text on her arm almost a million times, mind reeling. This was real. This was really happening, it wasn’t a dream. She had a soulmate after all, and it was her twenty-something assistant.  
  
God, Miranda regretted not reaching out sooner. Perhaps then, Andrea wouldn’t have ended up applying to be her assistant. The nature of their... work relationship prohibited them from being together. She’d have to fire her dutiful, hardworking assistant, and even afterwards there’d be talk.  
  
No one could know about this, even Andrea mustn't know who she is. Everything she had worked so hard for could easily come toppling down at any moment.  
  
A wave of tingling warmth hit her arm, and she glanced down at it.  
  
_That’s totally fine. I’m guessing you’re a lot older than me, right? I’m twenty five. What do you do for a living?_  
  
_Mm. I believe so, as I’m in my fifties. As for what I do for a living, I’ll say that I oversee my company’s operations._ _  
_  
Miranda grimaced once she ended her message. She felt a slight pang of guilt for being so vague, but not only was her reputation and career on the line, but Andrea’s as well.  
  
_Not a lot to go off of, but you’re probably a businessman. Do you like your job?_ _  
_  
The older woman snorted at that. A businessman. Why not, she’d let the girl believe what she wanted. If Andrea envisioned her as one of those dime-a-dozen, middle-aged, ruggedly handsome economists, so be it.  
  
_To some extent, yes. It’s very time-consuming, even with the aid of my assistants. And most of my employees’ work I find to be disappointing._ _  
__  
_ There. Something not frustratingly ambiguous. It was likely the most truthful thing Miranda had shared during their exchange so far.  
  
_Hey, you sound a lot like my boss! You two would probably get along well, to be honest. You’ve probably heard of her, Miranda Priestly? Always storming around New York in fur coats, sunglasses, and five-inch Prada heels?_ _  
_  
_The name does sound mildly familiar. I believe I’ve met her before, if not briefly. Not entirely sure if she’s as ruthless as the papers say she is. Anyways, you’re her assistant, what do you think of her?_ _  
_  
Miranda knew what people said about her. Ice Queen, Dragon Lady, La Priestly, and the most common one, the Devil In Prada. Career-obsessed, vicious, uncaring, demanding.  
  
She refrained from reading that garbage tabloids cranked out, but she was constantly called names and bombarded by reporters on a daily basis. No one was more caught up on Miranda Priestly gossip than she was. Miranda was curious as to hear Andrea’s honest, unsolicited opinion of her.  
  
_Miranda’s harsh, there’s no way of sugar coating it. But I feel like she only expects the best from her workers, because she wants them to succeed. For the magazine to succeed._

 __  
  
The corners of her lips tugged into a small smile, and she felt something warm bubble in the pit of her stomach.

  
  
_I see._

  
  
They spent the entire night writing to each other, and soon Miranda’s entire right arm was covered in writing, her left hand beginning to cramp. But she glowed with pleasure, surprised at herself when she realised she was disappointed when Andrea bid her goodnight.

  
  
Goddamnit, she really was falling for this soulmate nonsense. Furious with herself for letting her guard down so quickly, she flung the pen at a wall. It made a satisfying thunk, dropping onto the floor, and Miranda glared at it. Emotions made her weak, she knew that. The only things she was allowed to care about were herself, her daughters, and the magazine.

A fifth addition would prove to be complicating.

Miranda was careful to avoid Andrea all day, throwing her coat and bag onto the brunette’s desk, and then locking herself in her office. She gave orders to Emily instead, and during her thirty second exchange with Andrea, she didn’t even look at her.

A part of her knew it was childish, that it would raise red flags. But in the moment, all she wanted to put as much distance between her and that girl.

She had felt unhinged last night, her typical barriers and carefully crafted defenses of distant coldness and cutting remarks failing her. Miranda had revealed so much to Andrea and hardly noticed it until she was washing off the ink this morning. Recklessness didn’t suit her well, and she knew that it would eventually be her undoing. Might as well delay the inevitable.

“Emily,” she called irritably from her office for what seemed like the hundredth time today. The redhead clicked into her office, looking at her eagerly. Miranda’s lip curled. Emily’s clinginess and constant need for her attention was almost nauseating, but it wasn’t as though there was much of an alternative.

“You will be delivering the Book again, from this moment forward. I expect my coffee to be waiting once I return from my lunch with Donatella. Did you confirm the reservation?”

“Y-yes, Miranda.” Despite how stoic Emily was trying to look, her voice trembled a bit. “I’ll confirm the reservation again, and Andrea will fetch you your coffee from--”

“No,” Miranda hissed, slamming her hands onto her desk. Her hands stung a bit, but the pain felt jarringly good, hauling what was left of her mind onto its feet.

The redhead flinched at the sound, her face going pale. “I do not want her in my office, ensure she stays out. I don’t care what you have to do. You will go to Starbucks, and she will confirm the reservation. That’s all.”

Emily smiled weakly, and nodded. She bolted out of the office, nearly stumbling over her heels.

Miranda sat down again, trying to compose herself. Breathing exercises had never helped her before, but it wouldn’t hurt to try again. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, counting down from twenty. When she reached five, there was a knock on her door. “What?” Her voice was a vicious snarl.

“... Did you not have your coffee yet?” A bemused voice quipped from the other side of the door. Miranda scowled at Nigel, even though he couldn’t see her.

“I’m not answering that. What do you want? It better be good news, did Anna Wintour finally keel over and die?” She was out of control, she knew it. Her anger was toeing some invisible line of acceptable and inappropriate. But if she suppressed it, reigned it in, then she’d just explode.

“No. But I do have the proofs for the next issue, and they’re waiting for your approval.” His tone was cool enough, but Miranda detected that note of apprehension. “Fine, enter,” she sighed resignedly.

The bald man hurried in, handing the bulky, manila folder to her. Her eyes panned the pages, nodding in approval. At least that was one good thing to come out of today.

“Satisfactory. But I want to do something about page seventeen. All the text skewed to the right, and it looks off-balance. Send them back to me once that’s been done.” She finally looked up from her desk, and saw that Nigel was still hovering. “That’s all.”

He shook his head, toying with the cover of the folder. “No, not yet. I just wanted to let you know that Six came running to my office, looking like she was on the verge of a heart attack, and managed to stutter out that you were treating her as though she had the bubonic plague. What happened?”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed at him, drumming her fingers impatiently on the gilded surface of her desk. “Nothing. I don’t need to justify my decisions. However, I do need you to get that page fixed.”

“Miranda, I typically don’t get involved with things like these. But this time you’re scaring the living daylights out of everyone. It’s impossible to get work done when you’re on a tear like this,” Nigel glanced at her nervously. “I won’t force you to share anything, but please at least calm down.”

Miranda regarded him silently, pursing her lips. He was calling her out, and she didn't appreciate it. But he was right, her behaviour was unsuitable. “Mm. I see your point. Everything is fine now, but I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Nigel nodded, and after a brief pause she added softly, “Thank you.”

She still didn’t want to see Andrea at all today, but decided to roll up the sleeve of her shirt and check to see if any messages had been left. When she saw that most of it was covered in a loopy scrawl, she winced.

_Oh god, my boss apparently doesn’t want to see me at all today?? I must have done something wrong but I can’t think of what._

_I don’t know why she was avoiding me, so I asked a friend for help, but he hasn’t come out of her office yet, and I’m getting worried._

_Sorry, you’re probably busy, I shouldn’t bother you. Whatever you’re doing, I hope you have a nice day!_

Miranda uncapped a pen and pressed it to her skin.

_You were correct in your assumption that I was preoccupied. However, I have time now. Is everything alright?_

She got a response quickly, watching as violet ink danced along her arm.

_It’s all good! At least I think so. How about you, how have you been?_

_Fine. Today has been very hectic so far. And I’m still getting over the shock of having a soulmate._

Miranda decided it was best to leave out that in her “shock” she had thrown a temper tantrum, mainly because she was upset with herself for getting so emotional. It wouldn’t make much sense anyways.

_Haha, me too. I had accepted a long time ago that I’d have to live without one. I can’t believe I didn’t reach out sooner. What was the message you got? A to-do list for Miranda, right?_

_I believe so. Your handwriting wasn’t very legible, so you were likely in a hurry._

A chime from her phone made her put down the pen, and she growled once she realised that she had just received an influx of emails. It was just her luck that had to happen now, of all times.

_Regrettably, I must cut our chat short, as I have some work to attend to. We’ll talk soon._

_Okay, bye! Good luck with work! :-)_

Miranda found herself smirking at that smiley face, and huffed as she opened her email.

\---

The fabric of Miranda’s coat made a _whoosh_ noise as she tossed it carelessly onto the desk of her brunette assistant.

This time, she looked at the girl squarely in those wide, brown eyes, and greeted her with a list of things that needed to be done. Today, her presence would have to be tolerable at least. An apology was not in order, despite Nigel suggesting it. No, she would not apologise for her actions. Certainly not to-- _her_.

Andrea deserved every bit of her wrath, who did she think she was? Crash-landing into Miranda’s life without warning, putting her career at stake? It was unacceptable, and worst of all, the editor hadn’t seen it coming at all.

For God’s sake, she was Miranda Priestly, always five steps ahead of everyone, in perfect control of her future. If this little blip managed to blindside her, then anything else could.

“Miranda?” A cautious voice could be heard outside her door. Andrea. The editor hesitated before sighing, “What is it?”

Miranda could hear uneasy shuffling outside, and her heart hammered violently in her chest. “I-- I have Massimo on the phone. I also have some proofs from the art department. May I come in?”

The older woman quickly rolled up her sleeve, covering the fresh ink on her arm. “Fine, but make it quick.” The door opened with a click, and Miranda slipped on her best poker face despite feeling extremely rattled. It must have not been good enough, because the brunette stopped dead in her tracks.

“Do hurry up and hand them over already, I don’t have all day,” Miranda huffed, and Andrea fumbled for a moment before handing her the packet of papers.

The older woman ripped it from her hands in one swift motion, but was careful not to let their fingers brush. It had happened multiple times when the girl delivered her coffee in the mornings, and it often left her in a daze. Normally, that was fine, but she was already distracted enough today. Anything that further flustered her could prove to be extremely damaging.

“I confirmed your reservation with Pamela at the Italian restaurant, and rescheduled the run-through for afterwards,” the brunette started nervously. “A-and the shoot, Mark and Nigel decided to use the Givenchy sweater instead of the Balenciaga. They said the other one looked tacky.” Andrea glanced at the door, as if she couldn’t wait to bolt out when given the chance. Miranda felt the same way right now.

The editor let out a weary sigh. “Fine. Tell Emily that she is still delivering the Book and once I get back from lunch, I expect my coffee here. That’s all.” Despite the dismissal, Andrea still stood there, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, as if she wanted to say something. Her brow was creased with worry, and Miranda was upset with herself for feeling a pang of remorse.

“What do you want now, Andrea?” Miranda asked weakly. Her response lacked bite, and she just sounded tired.

Andrea bit her lip before speaking. “I know that I’m not allowed to ask you questions, but--”

“Then don’t.”

“What have I done wrong?” Andrea sounded desperate.

Miranda stood from her seat, staring at her in shock. Andrea stared right back impassively. “You want to know what’s wrong with you, Andrea?” She inquired, clenching the pen in her hand so tightly it hurt.

The editor began walking towards the assistant, her strides slow and purposeful. Andrea edged back only a fraction as she approached. Miranda narrowed her eyes at the assistant, who surprisingly stood her ground. Looking uncharacteristically stoic, the brunette replied, “Yes.”

Miranda had a multitude of things she wanted to say. But instead she shut her eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. “Nothing.”

Andrea’s eyes widened impossibly, and she took a step back. Miranda had pushed her to the door, their faces almost meeting. For a moment, one brief but wild moment, the older woman considered doing something irrational. Such as reaching out and locking the door behind them, and pressing herself into Andrea.

Luckily for her, she regained her senses, and opened the door behind them, the brunette still leaning away from her like a reed would from the wind. She didn’t even have to physically push the girl to get her out of her office, her presence enough to steer Andrea away. “That’s all.” Miranda’s voice was like ice, and she slammed the door in the assistant’s face.

Not even a minute later, Miranda felt ink seep into her arm, and furtively glanced up before reading the message scrawled across her arm. The script was definitely shakier than it normally was, and almost illegible.

_Hey, M. Something just happened._

Miranda hesitated before asking, _What is it?_

_My boss just totally flipped out on me. I don’t know. I’m not going to tell anyone what happened. Anyone but you, since you’re my soulmate._

Andrea must be one to trust easily. They had only known of their soulmate bond for a couple days, and Miranda would not trust a stranger so quickly. _What did she say?_

A whole minute passed, and no new writing appeared. Miranda pursed her lips in dspleasure, and was about to resume her work when red ink finally blossomed at her wrist.

_I asked her if I did something wrong. She didn’t answer, but asked me if I wanted to know what was wrong with me. I said yes, and she told me, “Nothing.” I don’t know what she meant by this, and still don’t know why she hates me._

Miranda inhaled sharply, unsure how to respond. Would she tell Andrea what it meant? Or should she continue to ask questions? _Perhaps she meant, “Nothing is wrong with you.”_

Andrea’s response was simple, but the helplessness was evident. _I don’t know._

The editor licked her lips before answering. _But you’re a skilled worker, yes? You do your job efficiently and excel in the workplace. So tell me, why are you so concerned about what your employer thinks about you on a personal level?_

_I don’t know._

_You should know, And-_ Miranda caught herself before writing Andrea. _Andy. Is it that you value her opinion as a professional? Or is it something else?_

_I think it’s something else. No, I know. Actually, nevermind._ That line of text was crossed out with a single scarlet streak, and Miranda rolled her eyes. _Sorry, I’m just spouting nonsense._

_Yes, you are. But that’s natural, I suppose. It can be difficult, being able to pinpoint what exactly you’re feeling and thinking, and being able to control it._

Andrea’s handwriting reverted back to its normal, confident scribbling. _Haha. You seem pretty good at it though._

Miranda froze, withdrawing the tip of the pen from her arm. _Yes. Lately it has been difficult, though._ She wrote that last sentence begrudgingly.

_Why?_

  
A chill ran down Miranda’s spine. This was dangerous. The editor swallowed before responding. _You._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really hesitant about continuing this story, mostly because of the surprising amount of people that read it and enjoyed it? And was afraid that I'd take this fic in a direction that was really bad, ruining it. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to tell me what you think in the comments!!


	3. Chapter 3

_“You.”_

Miranda wanted to bash her head against her desk at how sappy that had sounded, but that would indefinitely muss up her hair. She’d spent far too much time on it this morning to ruin it now.

Currently, she was in the middle of a meeting with Irv, who was berating her like a child for “excessive spending.” Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have permitted it, but she just rolled her eyes heavenwards, staying silent. Miranda was far too tired to do anything drastic.

The conversation she had earlier that day with Andrea confused her. After her sudden outburst of anger, Miranda felt compelled to offer comfort. It was ridiculous, really.

One moment she was ready to leap at the opportunity to tear the brunette to pieces, the next she told Andrea nothing was wrong with her. Then a cold dismissal, followed by words of reassurance. What in God’s name was happening? Was she bipolar? Perhaps she was going senile prematurely. She groaned. Whatever the case, ever since this soulmate nonsense reentered her life, everything had been disastrous.

Irv, the little goblin of a man, finally shut up. Miranda took this as her cue to leave, out of her own office in a flurry of white hair and clicking heels. She huffed in irritation as she strode across the hall, glaring furiously at anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with her.

Her emotions felt-- loose. Not nearly as rigid or controlled as they had been a couple weeks ago. _It was Andrea_ , she decided. _It was because she’d learnt that the meddlesome girl was her goddamn soulmate._

\---

“I’m so s-sorry, Miranda,” the brunette stammered, her dark brown eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to barge in. I didn’t mean to--”

“Mean to what, Andrea?” Miranda snarled despite her apprehension. She self-consciously pulled the sleeve of her shirt down. “Never do that again.” A pen slipped from her fingers onto the floor, and she sighed wearily. Without hesitation, Andrea bent over to pick up the pen, and Miranda tore her eyes away, certainly not thinking about that short skirt that Andrea was wearing, or the wave of the girl’s subtle perfume that had hit her.

Instead of setting the pen where it belonged on Miranda’s desk, the brunette held it out to the older woman. The editor paused, regarding it warily before yanking it from her hand. “That’s all.” With those words of dismissal, Andrea scurried out of her office. Miranda turned her head ever so slightly to watch her leave.

\---

_M! We haven’t talked all day. How are you?_

The message bubbled with infectious excitement. Miranda’s lips quirked involuntarily, but she forced it down as she wrote back.

_Fine. You?_

Of course, Andrea’s answer arrived quickly.

_I’m good. Hey, when you free tonight?_

The editor pursed her lips before responding. She knew what would come next, some request for a drink or dinner. No, a thousand times no.

_I’m extraordinarily busy, why do you ask?_

_No reason._

Miranda arched an eyebrow, not believing her for a second. _Really?_

_Really, I just want to talk to you. If we can’t see each other, can’t we at least talk to each other?_

Miranda’s stomach flipped unpleasantly. This whole situation was immensely unfair to Andrea. _Yes, I suppose._

She tried not to sound outrightly defensive or angry. It was difficult, especially through writing. How did one convey “polite curiosity” through text?

_Why would you want to talk to me? What about? Why would an entire night be necessary?_

Miranda had things to do tonight. Important things. Lately, she’d been behind on annotating the Book, and desperately needed at least one night of solid work.

_Sorry, I just want to get to know you more. Not to be whiny, I think it’s only fair. I’ve told you almost everything about me, but I don’t even know what your name is yet. If you feel uncomfortable with that, I get it. But please, tell me something._

Miranda huffed, because this was ridiculous. Andrea knew her better than anyone else. The editor wasn’t sure if she had the patience to maintain this charade for much longer, especially when the girl was no more than ten feet away from her.

The older woman gnashed her teeth in frustration. They were so close, proximity-wise, but in other terms, they were worlds away. The press was vicious and wouldn’t hesitate to tear them both to shreds, regardless of their soulmate bond. Miranda could already see the headlines: “Dragon Lady Snares Her Much Younger Assistant.”

She and her girls couldn’t endure another round of that publicity again, and she didn’t want Andrea to get involved with it. Everyone lost in this situation, especially Andrea.

_I’m not falling for this soulmate nonsense,_ she reminded herself firmly. Miranda was a busy woman and didn’t have for such-- such frivolous things. Ever since this _distraction_ emerged, she hadn’t been able to spend as much time working as she’d like to. Andrea occupied most of her time, with the twins in second, and the magazine the least. How things spiralled out of control so rapidly was beyond her.

The most upsetting issue of all, however, was that Miranda had mixed feelings about the girl. That wasn’t how her feelings were supposed to work. Her emotions were compartmentalised into separate boxes, each labelled neatly, and pushed to the back of her mind. But this sudden, absurd surge of feelings was undeniable, impossible to ignore. No matter how hard she tried, fantasies and dreams and other... _stuff_ would invade her thoughts. Did she love Andrea? Of course not. But she did admit that she cared about that idiot to some extent, despite how aggravating she was.

“Miranda, I have Demarchelier on the phone,” Emily informed her from the other side of her closed door.

“Fine, put him through.” Miranda paused. “And Emily, call Andrea into the office once the call ends. That’s all.”

\---

The call ended up longer than Miranda expected, and was relieved when she was finally able to hang up. She typically enjoyed her talks with Patrick, but she really needed to speak to Andrea about schedule changes. The editor nodded her head in acknowledgement at the assistant hovering around her desk.

“Emily said you needed to talk to me?” Andrea asked timidly, those expressive eyes meeting Miranda’s.

She nodded. “Yes. You will be attending the gala tomorrow night with me, Emily must deliver the Book in your place. She will be doing so tonight as well.”

Miranda’s quirked her lips at her assistant’s astonishment. It was always so easy to get some kind of comically dramatic reaction out of her. Not that she wasn’t already capable of stammering and panicking without Miranda’s help.

“Uh-- cool. Thank you. I mean--” Andrea’s face turned tomato red as she looked down embarrassedly, and Miranda thought it was adorable.

The silver-haired woman rolled her eyes. “Eloquence is most certainly your forte, Andrea. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.” The brunette all but sprinted back to her desk, and this time, Miranda really did smile. She had something to look forward to tonight.

Wait, had she just called Andrea adorable? She groaned. For God’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so long oml. still trying to get past that writer's block, so bear with me! i promise the next chapter will be out soon. thanks for reading
> 
> <3, kerry


	4. Chapter 4

From her office, Miranda had written Andrea a few messages. To her disappointment, very few were exchanged that night, despite the fact she’d dismissed Andrea early.

\---

For the first time ever, Andrea came into work after Miranda had, dark circles under eyes and makeup sloppy. The telltale signs of sleep deprivation alarmed her, though she wasn’t exactly sure how to express her concern. So instead, she didn’t comment on her tardiness, and assigned Emily all the out-of-the-office errands.

The brunette’s head hung despondently all day long, and Miranda wasn’t sure if a few words from “M.” would be sufficient. When most of the floor had vacated around lunch, she approached Andrea’s desk, a bit reluctantly. “Andrea.”

The younger woman twitched back to life, gazing up at Miranda. “Yes, Miranda?” Her angelic brown eyes were sorrowful, and the editor’s worry increased exponentially.

_Tell me what’s wrong,_ she wanted to say. Miranda racked her brain for something else to say, but failed, those four words emblazoned in her mind. She gave in.

“What happened?”

Andrea blinked, surprise, confusion, sadness, and tenderness all warring for control across her face. The emotions flowed in and out like waves did across the sandy shore of a beach, and Miranda observed intently.

“I-- I don’t... it’s nothing.” That last part tumbled out too quickly to be truthful, and Miranda shook her head, warranting a sigh out of the girl.

“No, something is clearly wrong, Andrea.” Deciding to be bold in a moment of repressed emotion, she added, “You can confide in me.” Miranda had just now come to the realisation that while Andrea trusted M. to some extent, she, Miranda Priestly, was unknown to the girl. In the assistant’s eyes, all they shared was a place of business, that’s all. That had to change, as soon as humanly possible.

Andrea’s expression softened, a bit of the grief ebbing away. Miranda wondered what must have happened for something to cause such misery, especially in Andrea, who was perpetually peppy and bouncy.

“My boyfriend has been cheating on me. I don’t know what to do.” The girl averted her gaze, staring at her desk blankly.

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. Boyfriend? Andrea had a boyfriend? She hadn’t known that, and this development would indefinitely complicate her relationship with Andrea. Secondly, who in their right mind would rather be with any girl other than this one? She caught Andrea glancing at her nervously, and decided to set aside her anger for a moment, gesturing for her to continue talking.

“I... I thought things were finally okay, that he understood my job.” Her eyes were dry, but her voice trembled dangerously. “He came home later than I did, drunk and covered in all these-- kisses that I didn’t give him.”

Miranda was suddenly transported to twenty years ago, when her first husband Samuel stumbled into their flat at an ungodly hour of the night. She had run to the door to greet him in an embrace, burying her nose in his collar. It had reeked of another woman’s cheap perfume and heavy liquor.

A wave of understanding flooded her. “People are disappointing, Andrea. Many more disappointments will follow, unfortunately.” It was the truth. Miranda’s life was just brimming with betrayal and deceit, even before her rise to where she was today. Andrea’s life shouldn’t have to that way.

“However, you shouldn’t have to endure that kind of behaviour.” Miranda’s lip curled into a sneer. “That kind of unloyalty should never be forgiven or forgotten.” _You deserve better,_ was the point she was trying to convey without actually saying it. She peered at the brunette curiously, who was still in a melancholic state, but appeared thoughtful.

“I think everyone deserves a second chance,” Andrea murmured, her abruptness catching Miranda off-guard. “You have to have faith in people, and they’ll be able to improve. After all, you took a chance on me, gave me the benefit of a doubt, and I’ve come this far. You live on hope, right?”  


Miranda regarded her carefully, and Andrea’s searching expression mirrored her own. What was Andrea trying to see in her? Was it the same as what Miranda hoped to see in her?

“Yes,” the editor said finally, her voice a whisper. Miranda gauged the girl’s reaction. There was no trace of dejection in her face now, rosy lips tugging into a familiar smile.

“That’s all.” Like that, Miranda strolled back to her office, effectively ending their conversation.

\---

“You need a gown for the gala tonight,” Miranda reminded her.

Andrea had just left a binder of Dior’s newest line of lipstick on her desk, and froze for a moment. Then she nodded. “I know. I’m about to go to the Closet and have Nigel help me pick something out.”

Interesting. “All the evening gowns in there are from last season,” Miranda said flatly.

The brunette grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “Yeah.”

Miranda pursed her lips in displeasure. Andrea was a Runway employee, and she couldn’t be caught dead in something less than perfect. Jacqueline would no doubt be on high alert for anything remotely problematic, and Miranda didn’t want to spare her energy on verbally decimating her today.

“No. Come with me, Andrea.” She rose from her desk, and beckoned for the girl to follow.

As they walked down the hall, their heels clicked together in unison against the marble floor, Miranda’s stride decidedly aggressive while Andrea shuffled timidly behind her.

They had arrived at the second Closet, which was used mainly for unloading the newly arrived pieces. Miranda surveyed the room cooly, and everyone cleared out almost instantaneously when they saw her. The Closet was quiet now, just her and Andrea, encircled by innumerable racks of vibrant clothing.

“Now.” Miranda began flipping through a rack, her focus fully invested in the search for a gown. “There should be a fuschia Valentino gown that just came in. Organza, with ruffles along the shoulder. I believe we also have scarlet, which may suit you better.”

“Y-you really don’t have to do this,” Andrea began, but Miranda silenced her with a withering look.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one finding the gowns, not me. I advise that you start now.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully. “There’s an Elie Saab one as well, peach satin, sequins on the bodice. The skirt is tulle.” At Andrea’s puzzled expression, she said dryly, “Those dresses aren’t going to fetch themselves.” The brunette went off like a bullet, and Miranda watched her amusedly. For someone with no interest in fashion, Andrea moved with a kind of enthusiasm typical of one that did.

“Found them!” Andrea called out triumphantly, three dresses of varying hues slung on her arm. Miranda was impressed, but arched an eyebrow. “I can see that,” was her dry response.

The brunette wavered for a moment, looking unsure of what to do next. The older woman rolled her eyes. “I’m fully aware of the fact that you don’t know how to wear a gown correctly, and it’s clear you’re going to ruin them if I don’t intervene. Get over here.”

Andrea obeyed, but her steps were timid, as if afraid that Miranda would hurt her if she got too close. Irked by this, and the glacial pace she was moving at, she took matters into her own hands-- literally.

Snatching the dresses from the girl’s arms, she hung them on the empty rack next to them, expertly undoing the zipper running down the back of Andrea’s dress. The brunette let out a small squeak, her face flushing rosy red. “M-Miranda, I can do it on my own, you don’t have to do--”

“No, you cannot,” she snapped irritably, causing Andrea to flinch. “You honestly believe I’m going to let you wrinkle this Chanel dress and toss it aside like it’s not worth two thousand dollars?” Miranda was only partly worried about that, actually, but decided not to say so. As Andrea shrugged off her dress, Miranda busied herself with getting the Valentino gown ready, the delicate folds of the fabric melting in her hands. When she looked up, Andrea was standing before her in nothing but her undergarments, and she nearly lost her breath.

Her gaze followed the black La Perla that hugged the generous curves of her chest, and swept down leisurely, taking in the slope of her hips and the long, pale legs that--

“Miranda?” Andrea’s inquisitive voice made her jump back to reality. Silently rebuking herself for letting her eyes (and mind) wander, Miranda sharply asked, “What?”

“The dress, please.” She held her hand out, as if expecting for Miranda to give it to her. Instead, the editor commanded her to turn around again, which Andrea did without protest.

Miranda watched the smooth fabric run up against even softer skin, and her hands barely stumbled when she noticed the freckles that fell across the girl’s shoulders. Miranda deliberately took her time, which meant it took her thirty seconds rather than twenty to get Andrea situated. When she smoothed out a barely noticeable wrinkle in the back of the bodice, the majority of her hand rubbed against Andrea’s back, mostly exposed. Her assistant shivered under her touch, and for some reason, Miranda desperately wanted to engrain that moment in her mind forever.

“All done.” The older woman credited herself for only sounding a little hoarse as she spoke, which she covered up by clearing her throat. Andrea turned, brilliant red organza flowing behind her, a radiant grin on her face. “It’s so nice. Too nice.”

“No. It’s perfect for you.” The words slipped out and Miranda was horrified until the girl’s smile widened, dimples deepening. Then everything was fine.

“Thank you,” Andrea said sincerely. Miranda made a noncommittal noise, but she was honestly pleased with how the girl looked. “Mm, yes. I too, must prepare for the gala. Tell Roy to pick us up in an hour, and make sure he picks us up at the designated time.”

“Yes, Miranda.” Miranda gave her a once-over before leaving, feeling a little dizzy.

\---

As much as Miranda wanted to take a moment and process what the hell just happened, time stopped for no woman. Andrea smiled once she had arrived in the lobby, telling her brightly, “You look really nice.” Miranda had given her one more once-over (for how could she resist?), and nodded in approval. The makeup was cleanly applied and jewelry had been selected well. Miranda suspected Andrea had received some assistance from Nigel.

Once they slid out of the car, they were immediately bombarded with flashbulbs, a mob of yelling reporters, and a few guests greeting Miranda drunkenly. The editor smiled tightly as she strolled through the crowd, the waves of people parting for her. She glanced back to ensure Andrea was following, and continued.

“Miranda, cherie!” Jacqueline greeted her eagerly, her mouth twisting into a sickeningly sweet smile. The editor’s good mood flopped at the sight of her. “Jacqueline,” she greeted her with bared teeth. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Bien sûr, of course!” She chirped. The woman was either an idiot or totally artificial. It was likely some combination of both, Miranda mused.

“I’ll be going inside now,” the silver-haired woman said smoothly as she began to walk away, her steps brisk but not frantic.

“Looking good, Miranda Girl.” A deep, oily voice caught Miranda’s attention, and she turned her head a fraction to see what was going on behind her.

A well-dressed man with blonde curls was speaking to Andrea, a confident smile plastered on his face. Miranda disliked him immediately.

“Hi, Christian,” Andrea returned the smile. It was relaxed, not like the nervous ones she often directed at Miranda. “I’d love to chat, but I have to talk to Miranda for a second. That okay?” The man, who was apparently named Christian, nodded. Once he had left, Miranda inquired, “Who was that?”

“Just a friend. He’s Christian Thompson and writes for the New York Times.”

“Hm. He was flirting with you,” Miranda remarked. Andrea wheezed at this, and Miranda gave her an amused look.

“What? No.”

“Are you certain?” Miranda raised an eyebrow, more than doubtful.

“...No,” Andrea admitted, a little begrudgingly. Well, end of discussion. Miranda gravitated towards a small group of Elias-Clark shareholders, greeting them with air kisses and limp handshakes.

“Good evening, Irv.” She tipped her head at him in acknowledgement, despite the fact that she loathed him with every fibre of her being.

“Miranda. You look lovely,” he addressed her flatly, clearly just as thrilled about this encounter as she was. She nodded and began talking to the other men, as she did not want to interact with Irv more than she had to.

Across the room, Christian was handing Andrea a fluke of champagne, and the brunette burst into laughter at something he said. She kept her eye trained on them as she glided around the room. In the middle of an invigorating conversation about golf, she finally decided to excuse herself. It’s not that she was angry, or jealous. Merely curious, that’s all.

Once she was in the bathroom, she produced a pen from her clutch, and pressed it to her skin.

_Hello, Andy. It’s been a while, I hope you’ve been well._

It had actually only been a day since they’ve written to each other, but that was a long time considering they typically exchanged hundreds of messages a day.

Miranda was patient as she waited for Andrea’s response, because she didn’t have anything better to do for the next twenty minutes of this event.

As she stared up at the ceiling, someone rushed into the bathroom at full speed, and Miranda bristled at the noise. “Shit!”

The editor raised an eyebrow. That sounded like Andrea.

There was a frantic fumbling noise, as if someone was digging through their purse for something. After a relieved sigh, lettering faded onto Miranda’s arm.

_Hey! I’m at a thing for Miranda, and right now I’m hiding in the bathroom. What are you up to tonight?_

Miranda was beyond tempted to waltz out of her stall and announce her presence. It would be immensely satisfying, but stupid.

_Not much, just work._ Half true, though she was supposed to be roaming around and greeting guests, instead of furtively messaging her soulmate.

_Who are you hiding in the bathroom from? Miranda?_

_Kinda. I was looking for an excuse to get away from my friend. He’s great and all, but he can be a little too much sometimes._

Miranda smirked before responding. _Oh, I see. So is this a friend, or a gentlemanly friend?_

“Oh god,” Andrea’s embarrassed laugh could be heard outside.

_Haha no. I already had Miranda make fun of me and ask me that already, and I think I’ve had enough humiliation for one night._

Miranda checked her watch, and with alarm, realised that Roy would be here to pick them up in a couple minutes. Time seemed to accelerate when she was chatting with Andrea.

_I see. Well, I’d hate to keep you stuck in the bathroom, and no doubt your head will be on a platter if you don’t return to your work function. Goodbye for now, we’ll talk when you have a free moment. Have a nice evening._

_You too, M._

Miranda decided to “fuck it” and carefully draped her shawl over her arms before strolling out of her stall. Andrea’s reaction was indefinitely worth the risk.

“W-wait,” Andrea sputtered. “You were there the whole time?”

Miranda silenced her with a stern look. “Yes, Andrea. Also, you should refrain from swearing in public bathrooms. Anyone within a five mile radius can hear you.”

“Sorry. I’ll get back to the party now.” She looked apologetic as she turned to head out. Miranda rolled her eyes at her, though it was mostly in tender exasperation.

“Don’t bother, Roy will arrive shortly. Besides, I don’t believe there’s anything interesting waiting for you there-- with the exception of Christian Thompson, perhaps.”

“I told you, there’s nothing between us,” Andrea protested, sounding more than a little upset at the accusation. “I have a boyfriend anyways, remember?”

Those last words hit her like a bus, and strangely, it was causing her temper to flare. Miranda sneered, crossing her arms. Irrational anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t care much either way, whatever the case,” she spat, her words barbed and causing the girl to recoil.

“I-I know.” Andrea looked like she didn’t actually know, dark eyes wide with shock.

“Good.” Andrea’s phone began to ring, the shrill noise echoing off of the tiled floor and walls. It just added to the sense of dizzying rage Miranda felt.

“You should answer that,” Miranda said to her flatly, before spinning on her heel and storming out.

\---

The ride back to Miranda’s townhouse was silent. Well, Roy and Andy tried to make some small talk, but had shut up once Miranda had made her annoyance obvious.

To be frank, she wasn’t sure why she was so upset. That actually made everything more frustrating. Whether or not she was angry with herself or Andrea, she hadn’t the slighest idea.

Miranda Priestly did not get jealous. Miranda Priestly was not attracted to women. Andrea Sachs did not belong to her.

She bit her lip, because she was having trouble convincing herself of these three statements, no matter the overwhelming amount of evidence she had to support them. Miranda had never experienced jealousy in her past marriages, she’d never looked twice at a woman like _that,_ and Andrea-- she didn’t really belong to anyone, did she?

Miranda stole a glance at the girl, who was peering at her with soft, brown eyes. When Andrea caught her looking, she smiled, rosy red lips and perfect dimples quirked. Miranda’s heart fluttered, and she felt her piercing gaze soften involuntarily.

The editor jerked her head back towards the window, scowling and trying her best to ignore the heat that had blossomed on her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the first time in.. ever actually, i'm ahead of the game and have the next chapter halfway done. i promise to update soon. thank you to all of you who have been reading this story, i cannot tell you how much your support means to me! <3 thanks for sticking around!!


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